LordOfDarkness
The Dark Avenger © †
Chapter One -An Old Friend-
Being stuck in a course you don’t want to do isn’t exactly fun. At least that’s what Ron Morin thought that day, as he swivelled around on the red chair. Hard at work were the students in his class, but no time or attention to detail did he have himself. No passion, meaning or feeling came across him. And through his hardships and promises, came no prevail from his higher education. He watched those days, as he was bored and lonely. He could only look at those kids with amazing drawings, ideas, images envisioned in their eyes and heads. The only feeling he could muster from within his very soul was such utter jealousy towards these students, some his age, older or even younger. Like those just 15, but with drawings so high classed; so devilishly outclassing him, he could only vomit jealousy from every orifice on his body. Yet diminished was he, cut by all things artistic, scorn by the very fires he created from his long going rage of the place. Pitiful, living a meaningless existence. His passions including nothing. His hobbies were equal to nothing. His life and self being was a lifeless body, an empty shell, a broken piece of art in itself. His morals and principles unthought-of, and goals and ambitions pushed aside for simple and childish things. His life was summed up to some as extremely dull, unfulfilling, un ambitious, uncreative, and such other words beginning with the prefix ‘un’, such as uninteresting.
At College he would find himself friends, but none in which he would continue to contact outside of College. Away from the Tumpton Arts College, he had only one true friend. Daryl Winston, a year younger than Ron Morin; was a tall, slightly chubby, intelligent, witty, badly dressed, messy haired, entertaining and funny young man. Who alike Ron enjoyed life’s more funnier things. However, very much unlike Ron, he found life’s serious side more interesting to persevere. He did not do random or silly things, just enjoyed laughing at them. Ron was the one who would entertain others by doing such things, even if he was the laughing stock most times. Nothing bothered Ron, as long as people had a good time around him and enjoyed his ways; he would be a decent and polite well mannered young man, with a smart way of confronting issues he was surrounded by. Or so most of this would seem until recently, his ways started to change. Beside himself, he could not make out if the change was for better or for worse. He was quite secretive, so he never spoke to anyone about his thoughts. Not even to his family, or his very few friends. He would just talk to himself, and try to reassure himself it would be okay.
It was that day he woke and stretched his weak, slim body, and pulled the covers from himself. Slipping into his jeans that were thrown onto the floor, like how he treated most of his belongings. He felt different that day. In a good way. ‘College! What is the point? Nobody there likes me. I don’t like the course or the people. I just can’t be bothered with it all’ he thought to himself, throwing on a T-Shirt.
Downstairs silent from the emptiness of it. Mother and father both at work, having left the house at 5 in the morning. Which is why he always had to be quiet at night times, in case he enraged his parents. In which case he would have to tolerate being told to shut the hell up, which he did not wish to have yelled at him at 1, 2 or 3 in the morning. But understandably he knew that his parents worked hard at their jobs, considering he worked with them at the store. His dad was the boss of the medium sized store, and his mother; well, he didn’t really know what his mother was to the place. But he knew she counted the money to make sure it was all good. He knew she sometimes worked in the bakeoff out back, filling in for Richard who usually worked that. And he knew she sometimes worked the tills, but not so much to his knowledge. He mainly saw his parents hard at work in the office, working with figures and such. Yet to his memory, he could never understand what all the figures were about; so good job he never had to work with that he would think.
With nothing to eat, because he never had breakfast; he took his jacket, keys, money, bank card and whatever else he thought necessary. As he walked towards the High Street to catch the number 7 bus, his mind dwindled to other things. He thought maybe he would go with his friend Dan into Town at lunch, in order to skip the rest of the day at College. That would not be the first time he had skived, nor the last by a mile. His friend at College was an incredibly random, insane, clever, mass murdering, psychopathic, rip your heart out with a toothpick, son of a gun, hardcore, totally out there, zany and wacky lunatic named Dan Beaston. And knowingly just reading that would please him enough to make him maintain an erection for several years. An erection of pride, and self awesomeness.
Being stuck in a course you don’t want to do isn’t exactly fun. At least that’s what Ron Morin thought that day, as he swivelled around on the red chair. Hard at work were the students in his class, but no time or attention to detail did he have himself. No passion, meaning or feeling came across him. And through his hardships and promises, came no prevail from his higher education. He watched those days, as he was bored and lonely. He could only look at those kids with amazing drawings, ideas, images envisioned in their eyes and heads. The only feeling he could muster from within his very soul was such utter jealousy towards these students, some his age, older or even younger. Like those just 15, but with drawings so high classed; so devilishly outclassing him, he could only vomit jealousy from every orifice on his body. Yet diminished was he, cut by all things artistic, scorn by the very fires he created from his long going rage of the place. Pitiful, living a meaningless existence. His passions including nothing. His hobbies were equal to nothing. His life and self being was a lifeless body, an empty shell, a broken piece of art in itself. His morals and principles unthought-of, and goals and ambitions pushed aside for simple and childish things. His life was summed up to some as extremely dull, unfulfilling, un ambitious, uncreative, and such other words beginning with the prefix ‘un’, such as uninteresting.
At College he would find himself friends, but none in which he would continue to contact outside of College. Away from the Tumpton Arts College, he had only one true friend. Daryl Winston, a year younger than Ron Morin; was a tall, slightly chubby, intelligent, witty, badly dressed, messy haired, entertaining and funny young man. Who alike Ron enjoyed life’s more funnier things. However, very much unlike Ron, he found life’s serious side more interesting to persevere. He did not do random or silly things, just enjoyed laughing at them. Ron was the one who would entertain others by doing such things, even if he was the laughing stock most times. Nothing bothered Ron, as long as people had a good time around him and enjoyed his ways; he would be a decent and polite well mannered young man, with a smart way of confronting issues he was surrounded by. Or so most of this would seem until recently, his ways started to change. Beside himself, he could not make out if the change was for better or for worse. He was quite secretive, so he never spoke to anyone about his thoughts. Not even to his family, or his very few friends. He would just talk to himself, and try to reassure himself it would be okay.
It was that day he woke and stretched his weak, slim body, and pulled the covers from himself. Slipping into his jeans that were thrown onto the floor, like how he treated most of his belongings. He felt different that day. In a good way. ‘College! What is the point? Nobody there likes me. I don’t like the course or the people. I just can’t be bothered with it all’ he thought to himself, throwing on a T-Shirt.
Downstairs silent from the emptiness of it. Mother and father both at work, having left the house at 5 in the morning. Which is why he always had to be quiet at night times, in case he enraged his parents. In which case he would have to tolerate being told to shut the hell up, which he did not wish to have yelled at him at 1, 2 or 3 in the morning. But understandably he knew that his parents worked hard at their jobs, considering he worked with them at the store. His dad was the boss of the medium sized store, and his mother; well, he didn’t really know what his mother was to the place. But he knew she counted the money to make sure it was all good. He knew she sometimes worked in the bakeoff out back, filling in for Richard who usually worked that. And he knew she sometimes worked the tills, but not so much to his knowledge. He mainly saw his parents hard at work in the office, working with figures and such. Yet to his memory, he could never understand what all the figures were about; so good job he never had to work with that he would think.
With nothing to eat, because he never had breakfast; he took his jacket, keys, money, bank card and whatever else he thought necessary. As he walked towards the High Street to catch the number 7 bus, his mind dwindled to other things. He thought maybe he would go with his friend Dan into Town at lunch, in order to skip the rest of the day at College. That would not be the first time he had skived, nor the last by a mile. His friend at College was an incredibly random, insane, clever, mass murdering, psychopathic, rip your heart out with a toothpick, son of a gun, hardcore, totally out there, zany and wacky lunatic named Dan Beaston. And knowingly just reading that would please him enough to make him maintain an erection for several years. An erection of pride, and self awesomeness.
